The Meanings of Life
by Gage93
Summary: Christmas, 2006. A summary of sorts to Life of Grissom and Life of Sara - one year later.


**Disclaimer: **Not mine

**Spoilers:** Season 7 - up to "Leaving Las Vegas"

**The Meanings of Life**

_Dec 23, 2006_

It was hard to discern just what woke her. The changes in his breaths? The pull of her skin breaking off of the sticky body of her sleeping companion as she moved? The grip of his hand on her hip tightening? The feel of his erratic heartbeats against her back?

Eyes blinking open and then closed, she stilled and tried to catalogue all of those little things she felt only a faint, but growing awareness of. The stickiness of his skin, his grip, the beat of his heart, his breaths. His breaths that were mostly shallow, but stilling every so often for frighteningly long periods, as though he refused to let another out, as though he was afraid of what that breath might do. They were not the long, deep breaths of a man relaxed into a contented sleep and for a moment she'd wondered if he'd awoken. As quick as the question came, it vanished. No, the slightly painful grip on her hip told her it was not a man absent of sleep, but a man caught in troubled one. Grissom would never grip in a way that could cause her any pain were he awake.

She turned slowly, and as she did so, she could feel his grip relax until all that remained was the slide of his palm along her skin where her camisole had ridden up in her slumber. Facing him, she took in the lines of his face, the way his prow pinched and his lips puckered in a frown. There was a line of perspiration below his hairline. She watched the sweat gather before allowing herself a short massage of his temple. His face relaxed momentarily and his breath escaped in one hasty motion. Grasping him by the waist, she wiggled closer, kissing him softly below the jaw. A few shallow breaths and his breathing stilled to nothing once more. His face grew tight and his hand clutched at her cami behind her back. She shoved her leg between his, entwining their limbs, and drew herself closer. Her hand lifted to his chest, fingers falling over the rapid beats of his heart. She kissed his jaw again and felt the beats slow.

The reprieve would be short. Her kiss would fade and his face would tighten. She'd seen it before. She'd seen it every morning they went to sleep as of late. A year ago she'd witnessed the same troubled sleep. A year ago, a man had committed suicide on Christmas, and Grissom had taken the call out. He'd been quiet and haunted and she'd held his hand. The haunted look had left his eyes and been replaced by something far more tender, something she'd dared not name. This holiday season the troubled sleep, the haunted look, was back. She held his hand again, every morning, but the haunted look would not leave his eyes. The tenderness was nearly absent. His eyes were tired instead. Her touch brought only momentary comfort. It was not lasting and the knowledge of that frightened her.

She touched him again, soothing at the lines on his face. Watching his troubled sleep, she leaned in and whispered, "I love you." Knowing he was still caught in some terrible nightmare was the only thing that enabled her to say it. "I love you," she whispered. "Whatever it is, whatever it is you need, just know that I love you." She placed soft kisses over his brow, his cheeks, along his jaw, then, wiggling down, over his heart. Her fingers lifted to his brow, grazing over his damp hair and clammy skin. Every touch seemed to calm him, but only for a few short moments. When each touch faded, his face became even more pained. The line of perspiration grew and the hair on his brow moved from slightly damp to noticeably moist. His grip pulled so tightly at her cami, she was sure his knuckles were white.

Sliding up, she drew closer and positioned herself so that she could whisper soft, soothing murmurs into his ear. Her hand fell back over his heart, feeling the beat of it below the pads of her fingers, and she continued to whisper. His arm slid around her, pulling her in, his clammy face falling into her shoulder. Then, he jerked away, falling onto his back. His eyes shot wide open, and she watched, uselessly, as he struggled to regain his breaths.

He sat up and shot a glance around the room. She tried to move and take him into her embrace, but his hand came up and he shook his head. Stopping mid-movement, she only watched as he sat and closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Then he was gone, out of the bed and into the bathroom faster than she could even fathom, and she was left alone in the room wondering at what had just happened. He'd had a nightmare, that much was obvious. His sleep had been disturbed for the past couple of weeks. Ever since a serial killer had emailed Grissom his suicide.

They'd all witnessed it before, someone shot, life draining from a person, a man choosing to kill himself rather than face up to what he'd done. Even a serial killer making it personal to Grissom. This last one had been different. Grissom had been emailed a live feed of a man killing himself. It was more than personal. It was like a suicide directed to him. And she didn't know how to help.

Sara flopped back on the mattress and stared up at the ceiling. Last Christmas Grissom had investigated a suicide that had left him drained and weary. This year he was feeling the aftereffects of another one, added on to an already trying past few months.

She knew what was going to happen. She'd known it for some time now. He'd left the letter lying around, waiting to be discovered, waiting, perhaps, for her to give him the okay, or perhaps waiting for her to broach the subject, so that he could tell her he was leaving.

Running her hand through her mussed hair, she continued to stare upwards, listening to the sounds of him in the washroom, the pads of his feet shuffling around, the running water, his deep sighs.

Sitting up, she glanced towards the bathroom. The door was partly open. Inside, Grissom stood before the mirror. His hands rested on the porcelain sides of the sink. His head was hung low. One hand lifted from porcelain to water and then to the line of his hair, wiping over his damp brow with cleansing water. If only that water could cleanse more than the buildup of perspiration.

Her hand lifted the corner of her covers. Her legs swung slowly sideways, slipping from beneath the bed sheets. Her feet landed on the floor and she stood. Taking a steadying breath, she padded softly to the door to the washroom.

From the doorway, she watched him. His chin had dropped back to his chest. His hand had resumed its position on the porcelain. His elbows were locked. His knuckles were white. His shoulders were filled with tension. Drops of water dripped from the damp curls on his forehead.

She slipped in behind him, slowly and gently placing a hand on his arm. His body startled at the touch and she withdrew her hand quickly. His gaze lifted to the mirror and for a moment she thought she may have caught a glimpse of tenderness before sadness replaced it. "Sorry," he said, his words so soft and so quiet. "You startled me."

Taking a deep breath, she nodded. His head dropped again. She stepped behind him, lifted her hand to his arm again and ran it softly up and down along his clammy skin. He didn't move, only sighed. She stepped behind him, grasped his arms in her two hands and kissed his shoulder. Her chin came up and rested on his collarbone. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head. She pressed against his back, feeling his rapid heartbeats against her chest and wondered if they were ever going to slow again. She released his arms, slipped around him, lifting his hand to wedge herself between him and the sink. Her hands slid up his chest. He stared at her. His hand fell to his side. His thumb brushed lightly over her hip, his eyes staring down at his touch. Then he stood straight up. "It's late. I should get into work."

She nodded, biting her lip, not knowing what to do and feeling so useless. "Okay," she said, nodding again. Then she leaned forward, kissed him on the lips and tried to put on a smile. She wondered how long they'd been doing this, feigning smiles for the other's benefit. Even Grissom, lost in his sadness, would have noticed it was all put on, on her side as well. For a long moment, he stayed fixed in his place, watching her. Then, he turned and was back in the bedroom, getting ready to face another night.

He was out the door quickly and she was left reeling. She couldn't help but feel worried, about him, about them, about almost everything, but mostly about him. Signing, she glanced around the condo. So much of her life was here now, but her life had always been with him, even when it wasn't.

It didn't take her long to get ready for work. She didn't want to spend any unnecessary time in the condo alone. She needed her mind on something else. She would rather focus on work. She drove in, wondering where he would be and hoped that it wasn't in his office, brooding. That thought kept her from detouring by his office like she normally would. She didn't want to see him there, not when she couldn't go in and offer him any comfort. She went to the break room instead, poured herself a coffee, grabbed a magazine and waited for everybody else to arrive.

Catherine came in first, followed by Greg, and Sara was soon distracted by people far more in the Christmas mood than she felt, or Grissom had been. Warrick and Nick came in together, laughing in that easygoing, brotherly way that they did. Nick was shaking his head. "No way man, the best Christmas movie ever is _Ernest Saves Christmas._ It's a classic."

Warrick shook his head. "You call that a classic? How can you think that movie is better than _Christmas Vacation?_"

Sara watched as Nick glanced at her and Catherine before focusing on Greg. "Come on, Greggo, help me out."

"Yeah Greg, _Christmas Vacation _or _Ernest Saves Christmas?_"

Greg glanced between Nick and Warrick. He took a bite of a cookie that had been sitting on a platter in the middle of the break room table. "Neither," He said, bits of crumbs falling from his mouth. He swallowed. "Both are hilarious movies, but the best Christmas film of all time is _The Muppet Christmas Carol_."

"How do you figure that?" Nick asked.

Greg smirked. "Classic story plus Muppets equal best Christmas movie ever."

Warrick snorted. "Yeah, picture that."

Nick turned and looked at Catherine. "Cath, what's your favorite Christmas movie?"

Catherine tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips. "I thought _Elf _was cute." Warrick and Nick both rolled their eyes. Catherine frowned. "I also used to love watching _One Magic Christmas._"

Nick abruptly changed the direction of his stare from Catherine to her. "Sara?"

Sara shrugged. She'd watched _Life of Brian _with Grissom the year before, so that movie held a special place for her. She took a deep breath. "I don't know. _It's a Wonderful Life, _probably."

Nick looked back at Warrick. "I think we need Brass to settle this."

Warrick shook his head. "No, I already know Brass's favorite Christmas movie. It's _A Christmas Story._"

"'You'll shoot your eye out'," Nick and Greg quoted in unison, and Sara felt a smile creep over her lips. She looked at them and smirked, shaking her head.

"What about Grissom?" Nick asked.

"Nah, he'd choose something like, _It's a Wonderful Life,_ like Sara," Warrick said, his eyes flitting to her as he said it. Greg also glanced at her and Sara bit the inside of her cheek to keep from giving anything away.

Sara watched as Catherine shook her head. "No, I don't think that's it. It would probably be high on his list, but I think if he were to choose his favorite of all time, he'd choose something like _Miracle on 34__th__ Street._"

Greg twisted up his face and tipped it back. "Why would you pick that for Grissom?"

"Because Greg," Catherine said, taking a sip of her coffee and setting the mug on the table, "everybody needs something to believe in."

Nick pursed his lips. "My money is with Catherine. I think, in the long run, Grissom would choose faith over redemption. What do you think, Sara?"

She couldn't say, or perhaps she didn't want to weigh in on that discussion. Right now, Grissom seemed in need of both. Sara shrugged and tried to look indifferent. "You'd have to ask Grissom."

"Ask me what?" Grissom asked, coming in with his characteristic display of classic timing. He looked at her when he entered, his eyes finding hers and holding.

"Uh," Nick started, causing Grissom's eyes to leave Sara's. "Your favorite Christmas movie of all time."

Grissom nodded. His eyes landed back on Sara's and held for a long moment that seemed to stretch time. She wondered if he was thinking about their Christmas the year before, of how they curled up on Grissom's sofa, watching _It's a Wonderful Life _and_ Life of Brian_, quietly offering comfort and support and love. It was almost too much to ask for that year, with everything he was quietly going through and the mood that had settled over him.

Grissom's eyes left hers, landing back on Nick. "I've always liked, _The Man Who Came to Dinner."_

Nick frowned. "Never heard of it."

Sara watched as Grissom shrugged. Years ago, he may have lectured Nick on the movie, or described it. That year he only cleared his throat and handed out assignments, Nick and Greg on the open case they were working, leaving the new scenes to the remaining CSIs.

Grissom glanced at her briefly before assigning her to work with Catherine on a db off Flamingo. He assigned Warrick to his scene.

A part of her bristled, but she knew why he chose Warrick. He didn't want to have to talk to her at the moment, didn't want to have to deal with everything he was dealing with and having her around, worried about him, concerned for him, would probably make everything harder. Catherine, with all her good intentions, might be prone to prying, but Warrick, Warrick would silently just be there. He would let things be, quietly offering support, but only if it was sought.

She followed Catherine to the Denali and slipped into the passenger seat. Catherine climbed into the driver's seat and started the vehicle. Sara stared out the window and thought of Grissom's choice for favorite Christmas movie. She knew he could answer that question five different ways on five different occasions. Perhaps he was just longing for something to make him laugh again.

She felt Catherine's eyes dart to her. "You're quiet tonight. Preoccupied?"

Sara glanced at Catherine and looked away quickly. She didn't want to cop to being preoccupied. "Just tired I guess."

From the corner of her eye she could see Catherine's eyes narrow. "You? I thought you didn't quit."

Sara shrugged.

"Must be the season," Catherine said. "Christmas blues. No plans, then?"

Sara felt a frown settle upon her face. For the past week, they had all been discussing their plans for Christmas, all but her. Catherine and Lindsay were going to try to give their mother a good Christmas after the death of Catherine's father earlier that year. Nick's parents were in town. Warrick wanted a quiet, intimate Christmas with his wife, but apparently she'd had other plans, so his quiet Christmas would be with her whole family. Greg was booked on a flight to California, leaving at quarter to seven, so he was processing his and Nick's case until it was time to head to the airport. Sara hadn't said anything. She wasn't even sure if she really had plans. She and Grissom had come a long way from the year before, but he hadn't been looking like he was in the mood to celebrate. Besides, his mother had just been offered a position at the Gilbert College for the deaf and was in the process of moving into town. He was taking his mother out Christmas Eve dinner, without Sara because they were both unsure about making their relationship public to anyone, even his mother. Being spotted with his mother and with Sara at a restaurant on Christmas Eve was not something either of them were ready for.

Sara shook her head. "No, that's not it. My plans are the same as every year. I'll be working."

"No, I guess not," Catherine said. "It wouldn't be your first Christmas working." Catherine frowned. "Have you ever not volunteered?"

Sara shrugged.

"It always seems to be you and Grissom. You know, I was almost surprised he volunteered again this year. Now there is somebody who looks like he could use a break."

Sara's gaze shot to Catherine. Catherine glanced at her. "You've noticed it too."

She was saved from responding by Sofia Curtis waving at them from the crime scene tape. Catherine pulled up to the curve and put the vehicle in park. For the rest of the shift, Sara concentrated only on the db in the storage facility.

It wasn't a large scene, but being a storage facility, there was a lot of evidence to process. She and Catherine spent most of their time prioritizing evidence. By the time they were done with the scene it was several hours into the next shift. Sara offered to log in the evidence so that Catherine could get an early start on her Christmas Eve plans. After the evidence was logged in, Sara took a peek around the lab to see if Grissom was back yet.

Grissom and Warrick were still at their scene. Sara sighed. It was getting late and Grissom had those afternoon Christmas Eve dinner plans with his mother. Afterwards, he would take his mother to Mass and Sara doubted she would see much of Grissom at all that night. She opted for a shower, a trip to the vegetarian restaurant for a bite to eat and then back to the lab to begin processing some of hers and Catherine's evidence.

She stayed at the lab for the remainder of the day, getting only passing glances of Grissom after he and Warrick had returned and watching him get ready at the lab for dinner with his mother. He found her before leaving, watching her from the doorway to the layout room. Feeling his eyes on her, she glanced up, waiting for him to say something, to tell her to go home, but he only watched her. He stepped into the doorway. "I'll see you later," he whispered and she nodded, watching him go.

Hours later she was in bed, tossing and turning. It was hard to sleep without him and harder still to think of him having an early Christmas celebration without her, even if it was with his mother. It still felt as though she wasn't really a part of his life, not fully, not in the way she longed to be.

She heard the condo door open and close, heard his footsteps in the hall, heard the creak of the bedroom door. She closed her eyes, listening as he padded softly towards her. The bed shifted below his weight and she opened her eyes. He was seated on the edge, his elbows resting in his lap.

Turning on her side, Sara lifted her hand to his arm and gave it a tug, pulling him down beside her. She wrapped her arms around his sturdy frame and kissed his shoulder. "How was dinner with your mother?"

Grissom turned and faced her. His eyes glanced hesitantly over her. His fingers lifted and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. "It was fine...good."

"Did you take her to Mass?"

Grissom nodded. "I'm sorry I never brought you."

Sara pursed her lips and nodded softly. "It's alright."

"Sara…"

She stared at him and watched him struggle, the same way she'd been watching him struggle for some time now. Darkness and guilt were combining to devour him. She felt heartbroken for him, heartbroken for him and insecure about herself. This life they had together, even if it felt stronger and more real than it had a year ago, it was still so fragile. With all the steps he'd taken in her direction over the past year, she was still so unsure of where she stood in his life. It might break this thing that they had, this thing that still felt so tentative, but she knew what she had to do, because the alternative was watching everything here break him. It was time to talk about that letter she'd stumbled upon. "So, you were offered a chance to teach a seminar out east," she whispered.

Grissom stared at her, but he did not look surprised at her knowing. He nodded.

"And you've accepted," she whispered, quieter, barely able to get the words out.

Grissom pursed his lips and nodded again.

"When?"

"January, for a month." He paused. "I meant to tell you."

She nodded and wiggled closer to him. "It's okay."

"I wasn't sure how," he whispered.

Sara nodded again. She knew that he hadn't known how, that he hadn't really had the courage. He hadn't discussed it with her at all, and that was what was fueling the largest of her insecurities. He'd even needed her to be the one to broach the subject. And as much as it hurt, it was still okay, because it was him and she loved him unconditionally. She loved all of him and she didn't want him any other way. She felt tears start to build in her eyes. Not wanting Grissom to see, she closed her eyes and rested her head against his shoulder. "It's late. We don't have long before we have to be up for shift, and Christmas Eve is always busy."

Grissom was silent. She pictured him nodding softly while staring up at the ceiling. She took a deep breath and pressed her cheek into his shoulder. One of his arms wrapped around her and held tight. It was then that she felt some of her fears subside, at least for the moment. At that moment, while he was holding her, they had everything they needed, comfort and security and love. In a couple weeks time, he'd be leaving her for a month, but he was there now, holding onto her and not letting go. She would grasp onto that until it was time for him to leave, and then, grasp onto it still while he was away. Perhaps it was for her to hold onto faith while he sought redemption.

"Sara?"

"Hmm?" She opened her eyes and looked up at him. His finger was playing with the hair on her forehead, tenderly twirling one long strand. He stared down at her. "I…"

Sara watched him, her eyes wide, and waited. He smiled, a half apologetic, pursed mouth smile. His face softened. "Merry Christmas," he finally said.

A tear slipped from her eye. She bit her lip and nodded. Her arm slipped over his torso. "Merry Christmas, Gil."


End file.
